


A Little Bit of Cat and Mouse

by callmejude



Series: Only the Unlucky [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, First Kiss, M/M, Pre-Series, Role-Playing Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 04:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20039959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmejude/pseuds/callmejude
Summary: Arya wants to play a game with Jon.Turns out, Theon does, too.





	A Little Bit of Cat and Mouse

When Sansa demands for her brother and Theon to play princesses and pirates with her, she is always the princess. Soft and gentle damsel trapped up in the broken tower that Robb and Theon are forced to rescue her from, taking turns sweeping her into their arms and carrying her down the crumbling steps. 

When she was very young, she had demanded that Jon take a turn rescuing her as well. Since learning what a bastard was, however, she has lost interest in Jon sweeping her into his arms. Jon misses it. He misses being included. But Theon grumbles every time she convinces Robb to play, rolling his eyes and causing a fuss about being too old for such things until Robb chides him enough to play along.

Jon is no longer invited to Sansa’s games, but he’s always invited to Arya’s. The difference being, in Arya’s games, she always prefers to be the one to do the rescuing. Jon does not mind it at first, but as Arya gets older, she insists Jon to look more and more the part of a princess.

“I won’t tell Sansa,” Arya promises, “If you dirty it I’ll tell her it was me.”

She is holding up a silken green dress that Sansa has stitched herself. It looks only just about Jon’s size. At thirteen, Sansa has grown quite a few inches in the last few years. Even at two years older Jon, to his embarrassment, has not. Though it may very well fit him, Jon has no interest to dress as a girl.

“Do I have to be a princess? Can’t you just save me as I am?”

Arya makes a face. “That’s no fun,” she says grumpily. “I want to be the hero. Heroes don’t save just anybody. They save princesses.”

Jon rolls his eyes. “Heroes save lots of people,” he argues. “Father says —”

“Please?” Arya interrupts, eyes widening as she clutches the dress to her chest, frowning. “I’m pretending to be a boy, it’s only fair you pretend to be a girl.”

That doesn’t make any sense, but Jon decides arguing with his sister is a fool’s errand, anyway. “Fine,” he says with a sigh, “but rescue me quickly before Sansa notices her dress missing.”

Arya grins at him, hopping up to give Jon a quick hug. “I will, I _promise,_” she says in an excited rush. “Can I ask Robb to be your captor?”

Jon sighs. “I suppose,” he says, “as long as he’s outside the tower and doesn’t see me.”

Arya beams. “I won’t let him, I’ll fight him dead before I come rescue you!”

Despite his exasperation, Jon can’t help but smile at his sister’s glee. She’s always so pleased when Jon plays games with her. The boys don’t succumb to Arya’s games as often as Sansa’s.

“Alright then, fine,” Jon says, taking Sansa’s dress in his arms. “I’m not putting this on until I’m in the tower though. If Greyjoy sees me I’ll never hear the end.”

It only makes Arya laugh. She does not like Greyjoy anymore than Jon does, but Jon’s frustration with him always amuses her. 

In the broken tower, Jon fusses with the dress. It doesn’t quite fit. Jon is slighter than Robb, but he lacks the form that the dress is for. He has no hips and broader shoulders than Sansa does, and the dress pulls tight at his back and stomach. The sleeves don’t quite reach the ends of his wrists, and Jon tugs at the lace at the edges, embarrassed.

He’s so busy fidgeting with the stretched green silk that he doesn’t realize he’s not alone in the tower until he hears the chillingly familiar laugh.

“_Snow?_”

Jon’s head snaps up to see Theon grinning at him, eyes glittering with wicked joy. Jon feels his skin go cold and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out before Theon can interrupt him.

“What’re you doing up here?”

Heat boils up the back of Jon’s neck and over his face. “I — Arya…”

Theon throws his head back and cackles. “Is _that_ what she’s got Robb doing? They’ve been fighting with sticks near an hour, now. Has he seen you like this? The spoils of his imagined villainy?”

Furious, Jon keeps his answers short to hide his humiliation. “No.”

“Shame, that,” Theon says, beaming, “such a lovely little princess you make, Snow. Almost as dainty and fair as little Sansa.” Before Jon can argue, Theon clears the distance between them and snatches a handful of the skirts at his hip. “In fact, isn’t this her dress?”

He’s leaning closer than he needs to. Jon takes a step back, focusing to keep from stumbling. The fabric pulls tight, keeping him from moving freely enough. Helplessly, Jon insists, “Arya _begged_ me.”

“Oh aye,” Theon says giving the dress a playful little tug that makes the hair at the back of Jon’s neck stand on end. “you fall so easily to the whinging of your sisters.”

Flustered, Jon tries to pull the silk out of his grip. “Saying no would break her heart.”

“Mm,” Theon grunts, his hold turning forceful to keep Jon from pulling free. “Surely you don’t enjoy being rescued by a handsome prince.”

“I don’t!”

“No?” Theon is grinning again, but something about his smile now makes Jon’s skin prickle strangely. He’s so much closer than he needs to be. “But you do so look the part.”

“Shut up, Greyjoy,” Jon huffs, skin on fire. The words make his stomach drop, and he shakes his head to clear the odd blur of his thoughts. “Just because you’ve never done a kind thing in your life —”

When he tries to take a step back this time, he steps on the skirts, and loses his footing. Theon grabs his wrist to keep him upright.

“Oh, now,” Theon says with mock indignation, “such talk makes me think twice about rescuing you, Snow.”

“Let go of me. I don’t need rescuing.”

Theon raises his eyebrows. “That’s not what you told little Arya, is it?”

“Greyjoy, _honestly_ —”

“You look quite pretty like this, Snow,” Theon purrs, and Jon falls instantly silent. “Are you quite sure you _aren’t_ actually a lovely princess in need of saving?”

“I’m — I’m not,” Jon means to snap, but his voice comes out hoarse as Theon leans close, grin predatory. Jon feels his heart in his throat. Why is Theon doing this?

“Not so sure now?” Theon whispers, the teasing lilt in his voice fallen away. Something has changed for Theon, too. Jon hears his heartbeat in his ears. “What’s changed your mind, Snow?”

It’s embarrassing to say, so Jon doesn’t. Theon has never complimented Jon in any way, and though ‘pretty’ is not a word that should be used to describe a man, Jon liked hearing it. He wants Theon to say it again. He wants, he realizes foolishly, for Theon to think he’s pretty.

“Nothing,” Jon finally answers in a whisper. 

He can feel Theon’s breath on his face. Sweat is gathering at the collar of Sansa’s dress. The air around them seems thick, heavy. Hard to breathe.

“I’m not a princess,” Jon insists finally, the sleeves of the dress clinging tense as he shakes out of Theon’s grip. It isn’t hard to do, Theon’s hand falls easily away. “Shocked that you’d find princess a worse standing for me than a bastard.”

Theon chuckles lowly, and Jon feels the filthy stone press against his back. He glances backward. He hadn’t realized they were moving.

“Aye, true, you are a bastard,” Theon tells him with a nod. “But would you still like me to save you?”

Ashamedly, Jon’s heart jumps. “A — Arya’s meant to.”

Theon tilts his head. It isn’t a no, which is perhaps what he was expecting. “Mm, no romantic ending for you if your sister comes to whisk you away, is there?”

Forcing himself, Jon snorts. “Oh, are you here to — to be a hero like the songs, then? I don’t remember the heroes being so cruel to —”

Warmth cuts off his words, soft lips pressed against his mouth, and for a moment Jon cannot process what has happened. His head spins when he feels fingers tilt his chin upward. Jon has never been kissed before. It feels different than he’d imagined as a boy. It makes the air around him feel like glass — fragile and brittle pressing against him. His mind seems to swim, and Jon slumps back against the wall.

He expects Theon to break away then, but he only chases after him, pressing him hard against the stone to keep him upright, sliding his tongue past Jon’s lips when Jon’s mouth falls open in surprise. He tastes like summer, warm and soft, and Jon is swept into it, reaching up to take hold of Theon’s collar.

Theon grabs hold of Jon’s skirts again, rucking them up so that Jon can feel Theon’s leg pressed between his own. Whimpering, Jon presses closer. His very bones feel alive in a way they never have before. Jon had never thought much on the idea of kissing or anything else along those lines, but he feels now as if he’ll never be able to think of anything else. Theon’s hold on him is strong and unyielding and Jon melts into it. Is this how the girls in winter town feel, every time Theon gives them winks and smiles? Suddenly Jon understands their twittering and swooning.

Abruptly, Theon pulls away from him. Before Jon can stop himself, he whines, tugging Theon’s collar in a silent plea to continue, but Theon only grins at him.

“Little Arya will vanquish your brother soon, I reckon,” Theon tells him, his voice quieter than it had been, and rough with disuse. “She’d be so heartbroken to see I’d swooped in and stolen her prize, don’t you think?”

Jon blinks. He’d forgotten what he was doing here, where they were. He looks down at himself, remembering Sansa’s dress as he sees it clinging to his skin. 

It occurs to him slowly, what Theon means, but still he mumbles, “I — wh… what?”

“She’ll wish to fight me next, if she finds me bespoiling her princess.”

Sputtering, Jon gives him a weak shove before smoothing out the silk stretched over his chest. “I — I’m _not._”

With a soft huff of a laugh, Theon smoothes down Jon’s hair. “Of course not. Only to please your little sister, of course.”

Jon glares at him, but Theon is already turning on his heel. “I’ve rescued quite a few princesses though, if you’d ever like to play again.”

Jon’s skin is still burning pink when Arya comes flying up the steps. He tugs weakly at the sleeve riding up his wrist. It’s an old dress of Sansa’s. He wonders if she’d really notice it missing so soon.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Let's Fall in Love" by Mother Mother


End file.
